


This Corrosion

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bloodplay, Bullying, Consent Issues, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: During the war, Ratchet makes a habit of casual affairs to ease stress and hide his struggles with emotional detachment and loneliness.  He thought he was in for a one-night stand with Overdrive.  Deadlock has ideas of his own.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 106
Kudos: 297





	1. Gimme Siren

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a self-indulgent Ratchet/Deadlock mid-war scenario, so I did.
> 
> This story isn't in continuity with any of my other fic.
> 
> The warning level can be summarized as "I want you, but maybe not like this." This is a story about presuming consent instead of asking for it, violating boundaries, and bullying; it's also a story about learning to ask for consent, respect boundaries and consider your partner's needs. 
> 
> Story and chapter titles taken from the Sisters of Mercy song "This Corrosion."
> 
> #

Chapter One: Gimme Siren 

Ratchet looked right down the deserted street, then left—all the way to the end of the road and into the park—then released a brief sonic pulse for the benefit of his radar, just to be sure. Nothing. 

He grinned to himself as he stepped off the loading dock behind the Deltaran Medical Facility’s secondary warehouse. Once again, he had successfully given his bodyguards the slip. 

Prowl would complain about it in the morning—Prowl always did—and Ratchet would feign irritation and scoff that he didn’t have time to waste waiting for his security detail to get their act together. Prowl would give him a stern word about the importance of protection, as always, and Ratchet would ignore it, as always. 

Ratchet did, however, feel a little bit guilty about the punishment his guards would likely get. They really were trying their best. They didn’t deserve a chewing-out from Prowl just because their assignment wanted a little private time. 

But, Primus, was Ratchet looking forward to his private time. A long hard frag was going to feel really good right now. He’d been putting in long hours for _weeks_ , and he was looking forward to the kind of deep recharge that only a successive series of overloads could provide. 

The mech he’d found to give them to him was going to be a treat, too. 

His name was Overdrive, and he was a hot set of wheels mounted on a sleek red chassis, with an easy grin that said _come on over here and take me for a spin_. Ratchet had first encountered him in the little fuel shop across the street from the main entrance of the hospital. The café was close enough that it didn’t take much time for Ratchet to get there from his office, and yet there was something about being outside of the hospital complex that provided Ratchet with the psychological illusion that he wasn’t at work any more. It was a respite he couldn’t find in Deltaran’s cafeteria or at the fueling kiosks scattered throughout the facility. It was nice to refuel in a place that wasn’t full of patients and other medical staff. To maintain the illusion that he had some kind of life outside of his job. 

That day, Ratchet had given himself permission to take a good long look at the speedster refuelling in the booth by the window. Overdrive had caught him looking and, with a wink, said exactly what was on Ratchet’s mind. 

So Ratchet had gone over there and made plans to give the red mech a test drive. Tonight. In a little boutique hotel conveniently located just a few blocks from the Deltaran Medical Facility, in an up-and-coming neighbourhood that Prowl absolutely would not want Ratchet going to until after gentrification had been completed and the last vestiges of the former residents had pulled up stakes and moved on. 

Ratchet changed shape and drove towards the hotel. He found the qualities of the neighbourhood to be a feature, not a bug. The locals were the sort to mind their own business and keep their mouths shut. Truth be told, there was something about the place that reminded Ratchet of… 

Ratchet pushed the memory away, but not before a name filtered through his head. _Rodion._

Ratchet didn’t want to dwell on history. Not now, when he was about to crank the crankshaft of a sweet little speedster with rounded thighs and brilliant gold optics… 

Ratchet remembered, with a jerk, that Overdrive’s optics were blue. 

No, that was some _other_ speedster hovering in the corner of his mind, leaning out from an alley in a Rodion long washed away by the ever-moving tide of time, flashing Ratchet a smile and purring, “Doc, let me pay you back” in a tone equally alluring and disturbing. 

_Overdrive._

_Good hard frag._

_Tonight._

Ratchet changed shape again as he pulled up to the hotel, vowing to live in the moment and make the most of everything it had to offer. His valve ached. His spike tingled. His fuel pump beat a little too fast. 

His voice was steady when he spoke to the desk clerk, but while he tried to look professional, the clerk clearly knew what was going on. “Your friend’s already there,” he said nonchalantly, handing Ratchet a key card. “Have fun.” 

Ratchet stammered an awkward “thank you”—how did you reply to a coded _have a great frag?_

His hands trembled with excitement as he made his way down the corridor. Yes. He _would_ have a great frag tonight. 

Ratchet opened the door. The lights in the room were off, but the curtains were open, and Ratchet could see a streamlined silhouette against the illumination coming in from outside. Ratchet smiled, drinking in the curves of a sleek body, feeling his pulse quicken with anticipation. He closed the door behind him and locked it. Privacy was important for what he had in mind. Then he hastened across the room and laid his hands on that beautiful frame. 

Surely Overdrive had heard his arrival, but the mech didn’t respond until Ratchet touched him. He twitched—almost a flinch, really—but then he turned around, pulling Ratchet’s fingers over curvaceous thighs, and ran his hand down Ratchet’s cheek until he grasped the medic’s chin. 

“Hey there,” he said, his voice rough. “Aren’t you friendly.” 

Red optics gleamed in the dark. 

And Ratchet stiffened, because this wasn’t the pretty red speedster from the corner shop. 

“Where’s Overdrive?” Ratchet demanded, afraid to hear the answer. Light pollution from outside the window illuminated the sharp edges of twin finials, the deadly curve of cheek guards, and cast a purple glow from a Decepticon insignia. 

“He’s fine.” The interloper sounded amused. “I sent him running. Told him this hotel was closed for a _private party_.” He rested his hands on Ratchet’s hips and pulled Ratchet against him. “He decided all by himself that he’d be safer elsewhere.” 

Primus, but Ratchet was trying hard not to think about the sleek chassis pressing against his own. Or the voice that was entirely too familiar. 

“Drift,” Ratchet said. 

The Con regarded him with a flat gaze. “It’s Deadlock.” 

“Drift,” Ratchet insisted. 

The Con chuckled, tipping Ratchet’s chin back until the strain on his neck became uncomfortable. “Ratchet.” 

Ratchet stepped back, pulling himself out of Deadlock’s grip. Tonight was going to the Inferno in all the worst ways. He quickly checked his comms, dismayed by the lack of waiting messages. 

His frown must have shown on his face, because Deadlock snapped, “Don’t be sad about your friend leaving you to my tender mercies. I told him I’d already scared you off earlier. He thinks you’re long gone.” 

So, Overdrive hadn’t deliberately abandoned him to a Decepticon. Cold comfort that would be, depending on what the Con wanted from him. Ratchet couldn’t even begin to guess what Deadlock had in mind. 

Just then, Ratchet’s comm chimed. 

Ratchet hestitated, searching red optics for permission. 

“Answer it,” Deadlock purred, running his hands down Ratchet’s chest. 

Ratchet felt static in his voxcoder. He could guess who was calling: Overdrive. Yet he wasn’t ready to provoke Deadlock by disobeying. He was entirely too aware that he was alone in a very private, soundproofed room, and he had no idea what the Con might be thinking or what he was capable of doing. 

“Hello,” Ratchet said. 

“Hey, doc,” Overdrive replied with a smooth note in his voice. “Listen, I’m told you’re aware that the street near the hotel is…reserved for other activities tonight.” 

Deadlock smirked. 

_Don’t say it_ , Ratchet pleaded silently. He wasn’t sure how Deadlock would react to hearing Overdrive proposition him. 

“So, how ‘bout we get together somewhere else? There’s a quiet little place I know just a couple blocks from Maccadam’s. You want to meet me at the main bar?” 

Ratchet made the mistake of looking at Deadlock’s optics. They smouldered like the fires of the Pit. 

“I’m afraid….” 

Ratchet felt hot hands travel down his chest, over his abdomen. Shocked into silence, he glanced at the Decepticon. 

Deadlock grinned at him. Stroked him again. 

Ratchet was appalled when his cooling fans clicked on. He overrode them so Overdrive wouldn’t hear. He hoped Deadlock hadn’t noticed either, but from the way the Con’s grin broadened, Ratchet suspected he had. 

Ratchet took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “I’m afraid those _other activities_ are going to keep me busy tonight. Decepticons raising chaos; you know how it is.” He glowered at Deadlock. “A big problem that’s demanding my complete attention.” 

Deadlock flashed a look of faux innocence and fondled Ratchet’s thighs in an extremely non-innocent way. 

“Too bad,” Overdrive said. “We could’ve had a lot of fun.” 

“Yes, we could have,” Ratchet said distractedly, wondering if he should try to send Overdrive some kind of coded distress signal. This was his only chance to let anyone know that he was trapped alone with a Decepticon. 

“And y’know I’m running hot lately. I really hoped I could see a _doctor_ but at this rate I might have to settle for any old _mechanic_ , if you know what I mean.” 

Ratchet had no trouble reading between those lines. If he didn’t get out of his obligation soon, Overdrive would pick up someone else at Maccadam’s. 

“You do what you have to do,” Ratchet said. Primus, but the words came easily. Was that all this thing with Overdrive was? Just a meaningless frag? A bit of physical release, nothing more? 

_Of course it was, and you know that_ . Ratchet scolded himself for his foolishness, and for the silly hurt that made his spark ache. He didn’t have time or emotional energy for courting. He spent it all on his patients. The absolute best he could do was friends with benefits, and when his friends were busy, it was a one-night stand with someone else who wanted a good time with no strings attached. 

“Huh,” Overdrive said. “Okay. Laters, doc.” 

The connection dropped before Ratchet could even say goodbye. 

“Aw,” Deadlock mock-pouted. “He left before I got a chance to make it _really_ hard to keep your voice down.” Deadlock rubbed at Ratchet’s valve panel and made him jump. 

Primus. 

How could something so wrong feel so right? 


	2. Got a Song for Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They deleted when I fixed it, but thank you to the people who pointed out that this chapter accidentally double-posted. I lost your names when I removed the duplicate chapter.

Chapter Two: Got a Song for Me? 

Deadlock stepped in closer, sliding his arm around Ratchet’s back. “Put your fans back on. Wouldn’t want you to overheat.” 

“Listen,” Ratchet said, struggling in Deadlock’s grip because it seemed the thing to do. He couldn’t just let himself be grabbed and…and _handled_ by Decepticons. “I don’t see how my sex life is any of your business.” 

Deadlock held on tighter. “How about back in Rodion?” he hissed in Ratchet’s audio. “It was my business _then_. You know I used to watch you from the alley across the street from your clinic. Used to watch you let all those mechs out through the side door, long after closing time, and you kissed them goodbye. Never the same mech twice. All those mechs, and I was _right there_.” 

Ratchet didn’t make the connection until Deadlock said one more thing. 

“Why did you always tell me no?” 

Memories crashed back on Ratchet in a rush. How often had he handed Drift a packet of fuel or roll of bandages with the explicit comment that it was free? Because if he didn’t, Drift unfailingly offered to _pay him back_. With, of course, the only currency he had. 

Ratchet had thought it was a matter of pride, but the way Deadlock’s hands were groping his aft made Ratchet wonder if it had been a matter of lust all along. 

Ratchet squirmed. “Drift, you _know_ why I couldn’t take you up on your offer. We had this discussion _how_ many times?” 

Deadlock blinked. “What, all that crap about ethical this and rules that? You _meant_ that?” 

“Of course I meant it.” 

_Would I have turned him down if I hadn’t?_ Ratchet was afraid to think about that. 

“Well, good thing I’m not your patient any more. I guess now you don’t have to worry about…what was it? “Power differentials and the abuse of the trust placed in you as a physician”?” 

Apparently Deadlock had been listening to him back then. Well enough to quote him in a mocking tone. 

“I think we still have some problems with power differentials here,” Ratchet protested, because that was what Autobots were supposed to do when they were being fondled by Decepticons who had trapped them alone in dark rooms where none of their friends knew where they were. 

“Nah,” Deadlock said, running his tongue along the edge of Ratchet’s chevron, and nearly shorting out Ratchet’s systems on the spot. Deadlock dipped his lips to Ratchet’s audio. “Now they’re _bonuses_ with power differentials.” 

“Wh…” Static in his voxcoder. Ratchet coughed it away and attempted to sound appropriately indignant. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That if we get caught, you can tell all of Autobot high command that I made you do it, and they’ll believe you.” 

Ratchet shivered. Drift was right. 

_You can let him frag your bolts off, and you can get away with it._

Ratchet’s engine revved loudly. 

“You can even tell yourself that you didn’t want this,” Deadlock murmured as he rubbed Ratchet’s valve panel again. “You don’t have to take any responsibility at all.” 

Ratchet’s fuel tank twisted. Instinctively, he jerked away. “No!” 

Deadlock flinched, pulling his hands back. 

Ratchet’s frame immediately ached for Deadlock’s touch to return. He would be in for some soul searching and hard questions for him to face tomorrow. For tonight, though, Ratchet felt a reassurance ease his tension. He had said no, and Deadlock had listened. 

“I’m not going to lie to myself,” Ratchet said, with only a slight tremor in his voice. “Just like I’m not going to lie to you.” 

“Okay,” Deadlock said warily. 

Ratchet let out a sigh. “When I said you were special, that didn’t mean I wanted to screw you.” 

Deadlock raised an optic ridge. It was impossible to tell if he was disappointed or curious. 

“There was…just something about you,” Ratchet stammered, lost because nothing in his medical training had ever given a name for the strange symptoms that befell him when Drift was around. “Something like a…like a gold light inside you. Something that had so much potential to illuminate this world.” 

Deadlock snorted. Derisive? Flattered and at a loss for how he should respond? His lip curled. “What’s wrong with me? You think I’m ugly?” 

“You’re a fragging knockout and you know it.” 

Deadlock shrugged. “I’m not as sleek as I used to be.” 

The midweight armour bulked him out, made him look even hotter. Ratchet liked the added power, though he was not about to admit to it out loud. “I’m not fussed on the purple insignia,” he sniped instead. 

Deadlock ignored him. “I’d ask if you had a type and I’m not it, but I know that’s not true. I know you like pretty much _everything_.” 

He was just going to keep pushing until Ratchet told him the truth. Recklessly, Ratchet loaded his voxcoder with the words, took aim and fired. “And I know _you_ had half of Rodion trying to frag you and I didn’t want to be just one more creep on that list.” 

Deadlock grinned. “So you _do_ want to frag me.” 

“I…” 

Deadlock slid his hand up Ratchet’s throat, fondling the big fuel line in his neck. “Don’t lie to me, Doc. You said you weren’t gonna lie to me.” 

“I care about you first. Yes, I want to frag you. But I want you to be healthy, more.” Ratchet swallowed, his mouth dry, as he watched to see how Deadlock would take that admission. 

Deadlock’s vaguely-threatening-yet-also-sexy caress vanished from Ratchet’s throat. The Decepticon actually took a step back, staring at Ratchet. 

Ratchet wondered if he’d scared Deadlock off, and whether he’d be relieved about that after his frame stopped aching for the Con’s touch. 

“What, is there some reason fragging you ain’t healthy?” The ominous black optic shield that rested low over his optics did its best to make Deadlock look imposing, but the optics underneath that shield looked shocked, almost innocent. “Like you got spike rust or something?” 

Ratchet tried to hide his smile lest Deadlock misunderstand it and think he was mocking him. “I’m thinking more about what happens if Prowl catches you.” 

“Oh!” Deadlock laughed. “Yeah, I’ll do my best not to let that happen.” 

“I can’t imagine your side would like us here together either,” Ratchet mused, and as he did so, his conscience pricked him. Maybe he should be trying harder to escape, for Drift’s sake. Two mechs from opposing factions cozied up together in a hotel…Soundwave would surely be just as angry as Prowl, and possibly even more bloody-minded. 

“Don’t worry,” Deadlock said as he wrapped his fingers around Ratchet’s wrists. “I’m _discreet_.” As he growled the last word in Ratchet’s audio, he pulled Ratchet’s right arm towards him. Ratchet found his right hand deposited on a warm, curved hip. 

Involuntarily, his fingers closed over streamlined metal. Deadlock jerked his wrist up, then pushed it down again. The curve felt smooth and hot underneath his fingers. 

Ratchet didn’t fight when Deadlock placed his left hand on the opposite hip. He didn’t wait for Deadlock’s pull and shove to run his fingers over the Decepticon’s frame. 

Nor did he stop moving his hands when Deadlock let go of his wrists. 

In that moment Ratchet knew that he was going to interface with Drift of Rodion. It seemed inescapable. Inevitable. Like being caught in the gravity well of a dark star. Instead of feeling resigned, Ratchet found himself eagerly anticipating it. 

Deadlock folded his arms around Ratchet’s shoulders, exploring the sensors on his back. Ratchet melted against him. His speedster’s chest thrummed with power and strength. Ratchet lay his cheek over Deadlock’s fuel pump and dimmed his optics. His attention focused on the clever fingers playing over his back and on the sweet curves beneath his hands. Ratchet turned up the sensitivity in his hands to better experience the frame beneath his touch. 

“What’s your pleasure?” Deadlock growled in Ratchet’s audio. 

Ratchet hesitated. Yes, he was going to do this…but he wasn’t fool enough to presume that Deadlock understood anything about consent or being gentle. Ratchet felt Deadlock’s hands take a grip on his aft and realized that Deadlock had no patience for a discussion. The realization that this encounter could go bad fast was enough to illuminate amber warning lights in the corners of Ratchet’s field of vision, but not nearly enough to slow his fans or curb his rising desire. 

What could Ratchet do to make sure this situation didn’t get out of control? 

Deadlock must have mistook Ratchet’s silence for uncertainty, because he offered a suggestion. “Cons do it like they did it in Rodion: aft in the air, lips to the floor.” 

Ratchet shuddered in Deadlock’s grip. 

Deadlock raked his sharp incisors along Ratchet’s jaw: not in the right position to bite, but as though he were warning Ratchet of what he could do if he took a mind to. “That a no, Doc? Or is that the part of you that gets revved up thinking about something so nasty?” 

Ratchet didn’t answer, because the realization that he honestly didn’t know stole the words from his mouth. 

“Or we could do it like Bots do it. Lying flat on a soft berth, legs open. Would that position feel better? Safer, maybe?” Deadlock’s hands turned softer, petting Ratchet’s thighs. “Would that make you more comfortable?” 

When Ratchet still couldn’t find words, Deadlock angled his face and lightly nipped his cheek. It felt like a warning. 

Ratchet knew he was running out of time to answer. 


	3. Something That I Missed

Chapter Three: Something That I Missed 

Primus. Deadlock seemed adament on playing as roughly as Ratchet would let him. Maybe rougher. 

Ratchet didn’t want to be…degraded, used, objectified. To _pretend_ was another matter—toying with taboo could be incredibly erotic—but he wasn’t sure he could trust Deadlock to see such an encounter as a mutual game instead of as a display of power. Deadlock would take every word, every touch with deadly seriousness. 

That suspicious part of him told him that letting Deadlock on top of him, pinning him, might also be a mistake. 

“How’s about something else?” Ratchet said, surprised at the gravel in his voice. “How’s about me on top, riding you?” 

Deadlock said nothing. Ratchet decided to give Deadlock a little extra incentive. He took one hand off Deadlock’s hip and used it to stroke his cheek guard. “You could watch everything,” he suggested. “It’d be one hell of a view.” 

Deadlock’s optics flickered. “You want _me_ to spike _you_?” he asked, his voice shaky. He released his grip on Ratchet’s body. 

It was Ratchet’s turn to be surprised. “I…well I just assumed…” 

Assuming might have been his mistake. Or maybe he just didn’t understand Decepticon body language, but… 

…but be damned if he was going to back down in front of Deadlock of all people. He knew how cutthroat life on the streets of Rodion could be. An overt display of weakness was practically an invitation to be attacked down there. Drift might be wearing a purple badge these days, but all his ideas of how life worked had been formed on those streets. 

So Ratchet put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, flashing a little aggression of his own. “Everything in your demeanour practically blared _I’m going to dominate the hell out of you_ from the moment I realized you weren’t the date I’d been expecting.” 

“I’m a _ranking Decepticon_. I can’t just _turn that off_.” 

“But you want me to spike you.” 

“I _want_ to finally give you the thanks you deserve and I…” His optics flickered again. “Heh. I just assumed you’d _want_ to spike me.” The corner of his lip tugged upwards into a half-smile. “Would you _like_ someone to dominate the hell out of you? Is _that_ what you’re into?” 

Ratchet sighed, holding out his hands, arms down, palms out, in what he hoped was a gesture of reconciliation that wouldn’t carry any connotations of surrender. “I like a lot of things,” he admitted softly. “I try to accommodate my partner. What would _you_ like?” 

Deadlock licked at his lips, a quick, nervous gesture with the tip of his tongue darting in and out of his mouth. “I’d like to make you not sorry that I wasn’t the partner you were expecting.” 

Ratchet couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. He reminded himself that Deadlock might be playing some sort of angle, and he should be careful about trusting the Con too easily. Yet he wanted to believe that the kid’s anxiousness and desire to please were genuine. 

“You want to show me what you can do? Show me a good time tonight?” 

Deadlock nodded. 

“And you think you can do that better with your valve?” 

“I, uh.” He glanced away. “I got more experience that way. But you probably know that. From my medical exam and stuff.” Then he looked up at Ratchet suspiciously. “Hey, _that_ better not be it. You better not be squeamish about all the mileage on my valve, after all the places your equipment has been.” 

“No, that’s not it,” Ratchet said gently. 

But perhaps it was. 

“It’s not the number of mechs you’ve been with. It’s the way you told me how much you hated each and every one of them. I don’t want to be another name on that list.” 

“Oh,” Deadlock said, and then his forehead furrowed in concentration. “Oh.” He glanced down at his feet, then back up. His shy expression was at odds with his fierce brow shade and cheek guards. “I don’t think you would be.” 

“Did you want to try what I suggested?” Ratchet reached out his hand tentatively, rubbing his thumb against that curved cheek guard. 

“I…I’m not sure I…” Deadlock leaned into the touch, even as his words expressed uncertainty. Ratchet guessed what his Decepticon pride wouldn’t let him say: that he didn’t think he had enough experience with his spike to assure himself of Ratchet’s pleasure. Abruptly, Deadlock suddenly squeezed Ratchet’s aft. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said, his tough-guy act back in full force. 

How would Ratchet even know if he was pushing the kid too far? Deadlock would never admit it. 

Ratchet struggled, not really caring for this rough handling. Deadlock persisted. Ratchet almost told him to knock it off but bit his tongue. Deadlock might take his resistance as lack of interest. Worse, what would Ratchet do if Deadlock didn’t listen to him at all? 

Suddenly a loud noise tore through the room: the sound of four engines roaring all at once, then the squeal of tires on the street outside. Deadlock stiffened and snapped his head towards the window. He released Ratchet, stalked across the room, drew back the curtain and glared out into the night. 

“What is it?” Ratchet asked. 

Deadlock’s frame relaxed. “Just some idiots racing at the stop light.” He looked back over his shoulder. “What, are you sorry it’s not your bodyguards coming to your rescue?” 

_Stop light._ An elegant solution presented itself. 

“Forget my bodyguards,” Ratchet said dismissively. He walked up to join Deadlock in front of the curtains and laid a finger on the Decepticon’s chest. “You ever play traffic light in the berth?” 

Deadlock peered at Ratchet, as though wondering whether Ratchet was teasing him. Deciding that he wasn’t, Deadlock curled his lip and said, “No. What’s that?” in a sort of sneering tone meant to imply that if it was worth playing, he’d have already heard of it. 

Ratchet wasn’t deterred. The aggression was an act meant to disguise the fact that Deadlock felt stupid for not knowing. 

“Maybe it’s an Autobot game,” Ratchet mused, giving Deadlock a way out. If it was an Autobot game, then Deadlock could be excused for not knowing what it was. 

“Yeah, probably,” Deadlock said, taking the justification that Ratchet had offered him. “So let’s hear it. How do you play?” 

“Well,” Ratchet said slowly, “if one of us really likes what the other one is doing, we say _green light_ to ask him to step on the gas and give us more. But if what’s happening is getting a little too intense, we say _yellow light_ and he has to slow down and proceed carefully.” 

Deadlock arched an optic ridge. “Pfft. That’s it?” 

“I think there’s still a colour missing from our traffuc light, don’t you?” 

“Yeah. Red. What’s red mea…” Deadlock cut off mid-sentence. “Red means stop.” 

“There you go.” 

“This game sounds boring.” Deadlock made a grab for Ratchet’s aft. “What if it starts getting good and someone calls out red light?” 

Ratchet sidestepped him. Any reservations he had about pushing Deadlock’s buttons were wiped away by the shiver of fear up his spinal strut. “Then that’s a challenge to try something different that’ll get you a green. I’m surprised at you, Deadlock. You’re the last mech I’d expect to be afraid of a challenge.” 

Deadlock froze. His gaze hardened into a glare. His upper lip curled back, showing off his fangs. “I’m not afraid of anything,” he hissed. 

Ratchet folded his arms and tilted his head. “Then why not play with me?” he asked mildly. 

Deadlock’s mouth quirked into a sneer. “Because it’s dumb.” 

“Too bad,” Ratchet said. “This game really turns me on.” 

“Seriously?” 

“I’m sorry if my kink isn’t extreme enough for you,” Ratchet replied, giving Deadlock a taste of his own snark. “A mech can’t help what he’s into.” 

Deadlook took a hesitant step closer. “This is really what you want.” 

“I said I wouldn’t lie to you.” Ratchet pretended to be more exasperated than he really was and hoped that exaggeration didn’t count as a lie. “Do you want to frag me or not?” 

“Yes.” Deadlock’s optics glittered ruby. His sneer turned into a smile that looked hungry in a way that sent a thrill down Ratchet’s spinal strut. “All right. We’ll play your game. So _you_ won’t be afraid.” 

Ratchet felt that he’d been found out, but he didn’t care if it meant that Deadlock would respect his boundaries. 

“Sounds like a good deal to me, kid.” Ratchet took Deadlock’s hand, heedless of the predator’s smile, and led him to the side of the berth. 

Deadlock’s lips moved soundlessly. Ratchet thought the word was _wow_. Mindful of that Decepticon pride, Ratchet tried not to show any outward indication of the strange warm feeling he felt in his spark. 

What in the Pit was that? It wasn’t any kind of symptom he’d learned about in medical school. If it was associated with arousal, he’d never experienced it before. It was weird, and Ratchet wasn’t sure he liked it, or the fact that this was _not_ the casual encounter he’d intended to enjoy this evening. 

There was no point in dwelling on that. It wasn’t as though he was about to leave. 

_It wasn’t as though I could outrun him. Look at him. Look at that wicked glint in his optics. He’d think chasing me was a lovely game, because a speedster can outrun an ambulance any time he wants._

Ratchet’s conscience pricked him in the dark. He’d said he wouldn’t lie to Deadlock, and here he was, lying to himself. 

Because the truth was that he didn’t have to outrun Deadlock for long. He’d only have to get somewhere with witnesses, like the hotel lobby, or, frag, even the corridor would do, if there was someone walking by. Or, even easier, Ratchet could fire off a few rounds from his guns at the window and witnesses would come _right here_. The room’s soundproofing wasn’t _that_ good. But Ratchet already knew he wasn’t going to do any of those things. In his spark he didn’t want to be interrupted. 

In his deepest fantasies he’d wished for something like this. 

Deadlock reached out for Ratchet, but no sooner did his hands touch Ratchet’s hips then he hesitated. His Decepticon arrogance had utterly deserted him, leaving him unsure of himself. 

“Why don’t you get comfy,” Ratchet suggested with a glance at the berth. He had to be careful to give Deadlock enough agency to feel secure, respected, and in control of himself, while still providing him the guidance he clearly needed. 

Deadlock flashed him a smirking grin. He walked towards the birth, swinging his hips, glancing back over his shoulder and flashing Ratchet a flirtatious wink. He bent over the berth—way, _way_ over—and wiggled his aft in a way that couldn’t possibly be accidental. Ratchet knew what this was. This _don’t you want to come and frag me_ act was a script that Deadlock knew, and it had to be comforting in its familiarity. Ratchet just had to be careful that he didn’t tip Deadlock all the way over the edge into the kind of flashback that would give him a bad time. 

_Overdrive would have been a lot less complicated,_ Ratchet thought. 

He watched Deadlock sprawl on the middle of the berth. The Decepticon propped his head up on the pillows and gave Ratchet a lazy smile. He curled his finger in a beckoning gesture. When he was sure he had Ratchet’s attention, he slowly parted his thighs. “Come and get it, doc.” 

Ratchet felt his mouth go dry. _Overdrive who?_

__

__


	4. A Word for Giving Away

Chapter Four: A Word For Giving Away 

__

Ratchet felt as though he were floating three inches off the floor on every step he made towards that berth. When he climbed onto the edge of the slab he wondered what had happened to his legendary steadiness in the operating suite. His hands were trembling, and his knees were shaking. Somehow he was able to lock his joints well enough to stumble his way on all fours up the length of Deadlock’s body and throw a leg astride the Decepticon’s hips. 

Deadlock stared up at him with a goofy, besotted grin that didn’t go at all with the Decepticon’s fearsome demeanour. The funny feeling in Ratchet’s chest intensified. When he got back to the DMF, he was going to have to get that looked at. 

Deadlock stroked his palms over the outside of Ratchet’s thighs. Ratchet wished he were a bit prettier to look at. An aerodynamic first response vehicle like Capsule, or a light flyer like Pharma. Anything but a boxy and plain ambulance. 

Deadlock was looking at him as though he were the most desirable thing on four wheels. Or off them. 

A soft smile tugged on Ratchet’s lips. “You like what you see?” 

“I waited a lifetime to see this,” Deadlock said. It would’ve made a great sardonic quip. Between the dazed expression on his face and the warm light in his optics, Ratchet feared that Deadlock—Drift—was entirely serious. Ratchet’s whole chest blazed as though his spark had gone supernova. 

Terror squeezed Ratchet’s throat. Not the kind of terror he ought to be feeling about being alone in a hotel room with one of the Decepticons’ worst. Terror that he’d found himself in over his head with exactly the same kind of emotion he’d worked so hard to avoid. 

Ratchet focused his gaze on the Deception insignia on Deadlock’s chest. 

_One night. It’s just one night._

He didn’t have to worry about any kind of _future_ between the Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer and a high-ranking Decepticon like Deadlock of Rodion. 

The pain and stress and grief and loss that hung over him like a shroud came crashing down on him, threatening to crush him under the weight. Ratchet bit back a sob. 

Deadlock stiffened under him. “Ratchet?” 

Ratchet took Deadlock by the shoulders. “Help me forget.” 

“Oh, doc,” Deadlock said softly. He took Ratchet’s right hand in his, brought it up to his lips, and kissed it. 

The romantic gesture should have made it worse. Ratchet had never expected such chivalry from anything that Deadlock was, or anything that Drift had been. But the sensitivity in Ratchet’s hands was still dialed up from when he’d been taking pleasure from stroking Drift’s thighs. Deadlock’s lips felt incredibly erotic: warm and soft and yielding, like a valve. 

Ratchet gasped. His own valve throbbed in sympathy as both his modesty panels slowly retracted. “G-green light,” Ratchet stammered. 

“Like that, do ya?” Deadlock asked, and then he ran his tongue over the side of Ratchet’s index finger. 

Ratchet couldn’t help but moan and grind against Deadlock’s panels, which remained stubbornly closed. Ratchet’s spike pressurized but found nowhere to go. All the glorious warmth was an arm’s length away, wrapping around his index finger. 

“Hey,” Deadlock murmured against Ratchet’s knuckles, “is it true what they say about medics’ hands?” 

“Mrgh,” Ratchet said as Deadlock lapped at the backs of his fingers. 

Deadlock’s optics sparkled wickedly. “Is that a yes or a no?” 

“Green light,” Ratchet panted. 

“Mmmm. Delightful.” Deadlock tickled the tips of Ratchet’s fingers. “Green light here, too.” 

“What they say….S’true,” Ratchet blurted, barely able to speak, but unwilling to take the risk that Deadlock might stop. Ratchet didn’t want this to end, not even for an instant. “S’how we…mrgh…how we perform delicate operations.” 

“And you abuse it for sexual gratification.” 

Ratchet moaned. Was Deadlock angry? The words sounded angry, but the tone didn’t. The tone sounded _curious._

“Not with patients,” Ratchet protested. 

“Of course not. Not you. You’re just so _ethical_.” Deadlock ran his tongue in long licks over Ratchet’s palm. 

“You’ve got me now. What are you complaining about?” Ratchet panted. 

Deadlock chuckled. “I sure do have you now.” Deadlock sucked Ratchet’s finger into his mouth, watching Ratchet closely as he did. 

Ratchet whimpered. It was everything he wanted and not nearly enough. “Green light,” he mewed. 

Deadlock lowered his gaze, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked. Ratchet abandoned himself to the sensation. Pleasure built inside him so rapidly that his head spun. Ratchet turned up his fans and pulled deep breaths of air into his vents, trying to pace himself. Primus, but he’d needed this for so long. 

Every once in a while Deadlock flicked the tip of his tongue against the tip of Ratchet’s finger, sending zinging sensations through Ratchet’s whole body. His spike tingled as though it were the part getting the attention. Ratchet realized Deadlock was sucking his hand like he’d suck a spike. 

That thought was so erotic that Ratchet just about overloaded on the spot. 

Ratchet thought about calling out _yellow light_ , but if he wasn’t going to lie to himself tonight, then he had to admit that slowing down was the last thing he wanted right now. 

Teeth clenched, optics shut, Ratchet’s hips pumped against Deadlock’s panels while his beautiful speedster took hold of his left hand and pulled his opposite index finger into his mouth. The thrilling sensation, doubled, on a hand not yet desensitized from play, was too much for Ratchet to bear. With a loud shout, he climaxed, rubbing against Drift desperately. He tried to shove his left hand deeper into Deadlock’s mouth, but Deadlock held his wrist and wouldn’t let him. The tease drove Ratchet mad, prolonging his overload, until he finally slumped to catch his breath. Deadlock had to let his right hand go so Ratchet could use the arm to brace himself from falling on Deadlock’s chest. 

“Wow,” Deadlock said. “That’s all it takes to get you to come?” 

“Shut up,” Ratchet said, but there was no fire in it. “You’re using all your tricks on me and you know it.” 

Deadlock chuckled. “Ratchet, I haven’t even _started_ showing you my tricks.” He turned Ratchet’s left hand over and pressed kisses to the back of it. 

“Ah, but isn’t it your turn, now?” Ratchet leaned over and kissed Drift’s cheek. He ran his finger down the sharp line of Drift’s finials and whispered in Drift’s audio, “What colour is your traffic light?” 

“Green,” Deadlock said brashly. 

“You tell me if it changes,” Ratchet said sternly, realizing too late that he was using his doctor voice. 

Deadlock waggled his optic ridges. “This is a freeway, doc,” he said lecherously, but there was a softness in his optics. Or maybe it was just Ratchet’s imagination desperately hoping there was some tenderness underneath the Decepticon’s armour. 

Ratchet would just have to see about that. 

He took his time working his way down Deadlock’s body, tracing Deadlock’s jawline with kisses, licking a trail down Deadlock’s throat. Deadlock gasped and tensed when Ratchet’s tongue touched his neck, but he didn’t call out yellow light, even though his hands took a death grip on the bedding. Ratchet slowed down anyway, moving cautiously along an obvious path. When he reached Deadlock’s collar fairing, the Con relaxed. He released his grip and slid his hands onto Ratchet’s back instead as Ratchet nuzzled his shoulder, kissed his chest. 

Ratchet expected that Deadlock would sooner or later grow impatient with this kind of slow foreplay. He glanced up at Deadlock’s face, waiting for Deadlock to tell him to stop teasing and suck his spike already. Instead, Deadlock looked back at him with an expression of confusion. 

“What’s on your mind?” Ratchet murmured. 

An unreadable emotion curled Deadlock’s lip into a scowl. “What you’re getting out of this.” 

“You don’t think I enjoy worshiping my partner’s frame?” 

Deadlock’s scowl collapsed. Ratchet swore he saw Deadlock’s jaw drop before the Con caught himself and schooled his features into a stubborn glare. “Didn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Then call red light if you don’t like it,” Ratchet retorted and resumed kissing Deadlock’s chest. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Deadlock folded his arms across his chest, but they didn’t stay folded for long. Deadlock lifted them so that he could peer down at Ratchet mouthing the soft metal of his belly. Then he braced himself on his elbows and sat up for a better look. “Hey, are you really gonna…” 

Ratchet had a biting retort on his tongue, something about it not requiring any experience with military strategy to guess what Ratchet had in mind, but thankfully he looked up at Deadlock before he delivered it. He looked up in time to see the genuine confusion on Deadlock’s face. 

_Has he really never had anyone do this? Or is it that I’m doing it of my own free will?_

“That’s entirely up to you,” Ratchet murmured against Deadlock’s inner thigh. 

Deadlock stared at Ratchet a moment longer. Then, with a hitch in his voice, he choked out, “Yellow light.” 

“All right.” Ratchet lifted his head, replacing his tongue with his fingertip, tracing a pattern on Deadlock’s thighs. 

Deadlock vented heavily, relaxing his frame in this moment of reprieve. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me.” 

“If you don’t open your panels, I’m not going to do anything more than kiss and touch, just like I have been.” 

Deadlock tilted his head skeptically. “You don’t want my valve?” 

“I want to give you a good time. You have to tell me what that means, to you.” Ratchet ran his finger over Deadlock’s spike panel. “If you open one of these, I’m going to kiss whatever’s under it—unless you call red light.” 

Deadlock’s whole frame shivered. “If you keep touching me like that it’ll pop open on its own.” 

“You’re the one running the traffic signals here. What colour?” 

“Green,” Deadlock said impulsively. 

Perhaps a psychiatrist would have seen risk-taking behaviour in action. Perhaps Froid would have theorized that Deadlock wasn’t asking for what he wanted, but issuing a challenge to discover what might come of it. Ratchet wasn’t that kind of doctor, and he wasn’t unaffected by their play. When Deadlock gave him green light, Ratchet wasted no time pressing a kiss to Deadlock’s spike panel. 

Deadlock kept it closed for all of a second. Ratchet was beginning his second kiss when the panel practically flew open, and Ratchet found himself kissing the tip of Deadlock’s spike. 

Well. That was nice, too. 

Ratchet finished his kiss by parting his lips and taking the head of the spike into his mouth. A shame he hadn’t gotten a good look at it. He’d have to admire it later. For now, he gently sealed his lips and sucked very lightly, trying to play as gently as possible. Deadlock’s thighs were quivering with tension under Ratchet’s hands. 

“Frag _me_ ,” Deadlock swore, and then his control broke and whatever he might have said came out as a strangled moan. Ratchet could feel the downdraft of hot air from Drift’s fans blowing down his back. It certainly seemed like the kid was enjoying himself, but Ratchet looked up to make certain. Deadlock might be having a little difficulty calling out traffic light colours. 

Ratchet discovered that Deadlock was staring at him. 

The idea of the kid watching Ratchet suck his spike was pretty hot, and ordinarily Ratchet would find the thought exciting. But the expression on Deadlock’s face wasn’t that of a mech watching a spicy vid come to life. There was a shell-shocked hollowness in Drift’s optics that Ratchet had seen before. It was the look of a mech who hadn’t accepted that what was happening to him was real. 

Emotion wrenched Ratchet’s spark and threatened to strangle him. Ratchet resisted. He wasn’t going to let some silly feeling ruin the kid’s good time. Fortunately, as a doctor, Ratchet had practice putting his own feelings aside to focus on the task at hand. Right now, the task at hand was to give Deadlock both pleasure and reassurance. 

Primus, and the kid whimpered at _everything_ : Ratchet’s tongue on the head of his spike, Ratchet’s cheeks hollowing when he sucked, Ratchet bobbing his head to take the spike deeper into his mouth just a little bit at a time. In between cries, Deadlock gasped out a never ending stream of exclamations, curses, and every once in a while, Ratchet’s name. 

Ratchet was really enjoying this. There was a special kind of pleasure that came from knowing that he had the skills to rock another mech’s world and the power to give someone else such an intense experience. It was as though Ratchet was experiencing the echos of Deadlock’s pleasure. The better Deadlock felt, the louder those echos would be for Ratchet. A win-win scenario, all considered. Ratchet couldn’t wait for Deadlock to overload. 

Until Deadlock suddenly panted out, “R-red light!” 


	5. Things That Don't Last Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After two weeks sick with the Not-'Rona, I've finally gotten this chapter into a state I'm happy with. Thank you for your patience! Here's a delayed #dratchetparty.

Chapter Five: Things that Don’t Last Long 

Startled, Ratchet released Deadlock’s spike. He’d thought the kid was on the verge of overload. Was it truly such a big deal if Deadlock climaxed now? 

Ratchet hadn’t thought of Deadlock as the kind of mech who had just one shot. Speedsters usually overloaded quickly and revved up for another round just as quickly. 

But that was a generalization. Deadlock might well be the exception. Even if he wasn’t, Ratchet was honour-bound to accept his request to stop. Plus, it might well be that Deadlock was worried about coming in Ratchet’s mouth. 

Ratchet decided to try some healthy communication. “You okay, kid?” 

Deadlock sat up, his optics narrowing. His words were caustic acid. “You don’t fool me, doc. I know this game. I know what you’re up to.” 

Honestly befuddled by Deadlock’s sudden hostility, Ratchet looked at him blankly. He spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. He hoped the Con could tell the difference between meaning no harm and confessing to whatever game Deadlock had alluded to. “If you tell me what I did wrong, I won’t do it again.” 

Deadlock scowled. “You’re trying to suck me off so good that I won’t have anything left to spike you with. After I’d intended to be nice to you.” He curled his lip scornfully. “You didn’t even have the guts to tell me you didn’t want me.” 

Ratchet felt shocked. “That’s not true!” 

Deadlock’s voice grew tainted with sarcasm. “You said you wanted to climb on top of my spike.” He spat his next words in challenge. “Okay. Go ahead and do it, then.” 

Ratchet folded his arms and glowered back. “You can knock off the bully act. It’s a real turnoff.” 

Deadlock withdrew, glowering. “So you were lying. Big surprise.” 

“I wasn’t _lying_. We can move this along whenever you like.” 

Deadlock blinked. Air rushed out of his vents. He seemed to visibly deflate. The Decepticon warrior collapsed into a smaller, slighter mech who couldn’t meet Ratchet’s gaze. 

“But you don’t want me,” he mumbled. 

Ratchet reached out and stroked Deadlock’s cheek, carefully maneuvering his thumb over the edge of the curved cheek guards to stroke the tender hide under Deadlock’s optic. “That’s really bothering you,” he murmured. “It’s so hard for you to believe that I might?” 

“You never wanted me before…” 

“I said I _couldn’t_ before.” Ratchet used his other hand to stroke Deadlock’s back, oh so carefully. “Not that I didn’t want you.” 

“And I had to corner you here in this room…” Deadlock’s voice cracked. His optics shimmered and he bit his lip hard, pressing one long fang into soft metal. 

“And here we are,” Ratchet soothed. “And if you like, we can make love together.” 

Deadlock gasped. The expression of innocence looked out of place next to Deadlock’s low optic shield and facial armour. “But…you wouldn’t climb on my spike?” 

Ratchet lifted his palm from Deadlock’s cheek and took Deadlock’s hand. “Would you help me get my valve ready to ride your spike?” 

Deadlock’s optics flashed with surprise. 

“I wasn’t lying, kid,” Ratchet said gently. “It’s just that it’s more comfortable if I can get a little foreplay first.” 

“Oh,” Deadlock said, looking a little embarrassed. He turned his face away, but not before Ratchet’s infrared noticed Deadlock’s faceplates heating up. 

“You mind revving me up a little?” 

“Sure, whatever you want.” 

Ratchet reached into his subspace pocket. He’d come prepared for some fun; the fact that it was with Deadlock and not Overdrive didn’t matter. 

Ratchet ignored the voice in his head telling him that it mattered a great deal. 

“You know what this is?” Ratchet asked, holding up the little jar. 

Deadlock took the jar. “Yeah.” 

He didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about this foreplay, but he opened the jar anyway. Ratchet settled for compliance as an improvement over complaints. He also settled into Deadlock’s lap, opened his legs, and retracted his valve panel. “You know how to get out if you don’t want to play,” Ratchet murmured, dimming his optics and concentrating on his valve. He felt a tingle of interest from down below. 

A moment later, he gasped as a cold glob of lubricant was deposited between his valve lips in one swift, businesslike motion. 

“ _Really_?” Ratchet demanded, just as Deadlock said, “How’m I supposed to frag you like this?” 

_Back to the bully act again._ Impatience frayed Ratchet’s temper. He’d been getting hot anticipating some good foreplay, only for Deadlock to lube his valve with all the romance of a medical exam. Alongside it came guilt. Maybe he shouldn’t expect Deadlock to know what he was doing. 

Ratchet grabbed Deadlock’s wrist. “Red light me if you hate this,” Ratchet growled as he splayed his fingers over Deadlock’s and guided Deadlock’s index finger to his anterior node. 

“What?” Deadlock said, but he didn’t resist. He let Ratchet press his finger pad against the node and move the finger up and down. 

This wasn’t the sexiest thing Ratchet had ever done, but it got better when Deadlock figured out that Ratchet wanted him to rub his node. As soon as Deadlock started actively participating, Ratchet stopped guiding him, laid back, and tried to enjoy. Deadlock’s finger was still pleasantly moist but… 

“Put a bit more lube on your finger and that’ll be just about perfect.” 

“Bossy, aren’t you?” 

“Is that a red light?” 

“No,” Deadlock muttered. Ratchet leaned back to see if Deadlock was serious and caught the kid flashing him an exaggerated pout. Ratchet couldn’t help but laugh. Deadlock blinked, then laughed too. 

Then he followed Ratchet’s suggestion. Ratchet’s laugh choked off into a moan. Deadlock’s smile got really big, flashing his long, pointed incisors. It was one of those things that ought to be alarming and was hot instead. Ratchet bit his lip but couldn’t control his body’s response. His node swelled with desire under Deadlock’s touch, growing plump with arousal and so very sensitive to every movement of Deadlock’s finger. 

“Oh,” Deadlock said. “Oh, you really _do_ like this.” 

“Don’t you touch yours?” Ratchet snarked. 

Deadlock winced, and Ratchet was sorry he’d asked. He couldn’t take the words back, though, so he had to forge ahead. “You should try it sometime. Just like this. Lots of lube, nice and slow.” 

“Why don’t I get you to try it on me?” 

Ratchet didn’t know how to answer that. Touching Deadlock sounded nice, but Ratchet wasn’t comfortable with the idea of some kind of scenario where he was _initiating_ or _teaching_ or _mastering_ Deadlock’s first attempts at that sort of pleasure. “Because you should learn a little bit about what you like before you ask me to share it.” 

“I like you.” 

It sounded flip. Ratchet snorted. 

“Every time you touch me it feels good.” Deadlock’s fingers slid over Ratchet’s slippery node, dipping down towards his valve entrance. “You’d know what you were doing.” 

Ratchet dimmed his optics. His hips pumped, searching for Deadlock’s finger. He swore he felt Deadlock’s fingertip at his opening, and he wanted that finger inside. “That’s real good, kid. Gimme some more.” 

“I want to watch it,” Deadlock said abruptly. 

It took Ratchet a second to pull his thoughts out of the pleasure-fog where he’d lost them. “Huh?” 

“I want to watch my finger go inside you.” 

“Fine,” Ratchet panted. “I’ll lie down, you go ahead and watch. Just… _fast_ , kid, this feels really good.” 

Ratchet had never had a fetish for inexperienced partners. He’d much rather have a mech with some experience under his belt than a fumbling innocent with no clue what he was doing. Ratchet had always enjoyed the educational experience of learning tricks from others, and he took pride in showing them just what _he_ knew how to do. 

Besides, there was something unpleasant about the idea of finding an inexperienced partner, seducing him, breaking him in, and…then what? Cutting him loose because he was too polished to turn you on any more? Dumping him so you could find the next innocent to seduce? No. Lovers weren’t _disposable_. There was a difference between a mutual agreement to keep it casual and a unilateral decision to treat people as playthings. 

A dark thought wound its tendrils through Ratchet’s mind. 

_What if you train him up to give it to you_ exactly _the way you like it and then you…keep him? Perfect fragging on demand, guaranteed to get you off?_

That was a hot little fantasy but it wasn’t anything that Ratchet would confuse with _reality_. He wasn’t going to get to keep his hot little Decepticon. The war would see to that, and… 

Primus, but Ratchet didn’t want to think about these sort of things. He was supposed to be getting his crankshaft cranked and nothing more. 

With Overdrive he could have had his casual affair. With Drift, not a chance. He was already so tangled up with questions of obligations and ethics and…and… 

_And whatever the frag foolishness made you say the kid was special._

His spark burned until it ached. 

It was a mercy when Deadlock finally settled into position between Ratchet’s spread legs, reached out his hands, and carefully tucked his index fingers on each side of Ratchet’s valve lips. He folded his thumbs onto the other sides of the lips, trapping them between thumb and forefinger. Gently, he pulled them apart. 

“Oh,” Deadlock said. 

“Mrgh.” It was the best Ratchet could manage. Deadlock was staring into his valve with a look of intense concentration that made Ratchet’s engine rev helplessly. His valve ached, clenching on nothing, eager to be filled. 

“It’s so wet,” Deadlock breathed. His attempt at a sneer collapsed into genuine awe. 

Deadlock’s amazement was much hotter than it should have been. Ratchet squirmed, ready for some action already. 

“C’mon, kid,” Ratchet panted. “You want me to beg?” 

“Aren’t you going to, you know…” Deadlock’s cheeks heated. “Wiggle around and stuff? Tell me how much you need a good hard screw?” 

“Would you like to see me do that?” It wasn’t Ratchet’s usual style to put on a show. He didn’t have the looks, for one thing, but possibly more important was the fact that his usual partners didn’t expect to be teased or enticed by the time they got to the berthroom. Yet little about this encounter was anything like his usual, and Ratchet found himself growing increasingly excited by the change. “Would that turn you on, kid?” 

“No.” Deadlock was really cute when he was shy. Ratchet couldn’t understand the thrill he felt when he saw Deadlock’s embarrassed expression. “I mean, I don’t mind if _you_ want to. If it makes _you_ feel sexy. But I don’t _need_ you to.” 

“I need you,” Ratchet murmured, his voice husky. “Help me feel good tonight.” 

Deadlock furrowed his brow, as though he really wasn’t sure what he should do with the open valve in front of him. Ratchet wondered if the kid would use his tongue. Primus, but Ratchet would like it if he did. 

Instead, Deadlock used his left hand to make a V with his second and third fingers, sliding it up Ratchet’s valve to keep the lips apart. Cautiously, he poked his other index finger at the opening. 

Between the lube and his own frame’s contributions, Ratchet was more than ready to grip Deadlock’s finger and pull in. 

Ratchet let himself moan with appreciation. Ordinarily he’d try to hold back at least a little this early in an encounter. Tonight, though, it would be important to let Deadlock know when he was doing a good job. 

“Is this okay?” Deadlock asked. 

Ratchet bit his lip and drew a deep breath into his vents. “Gimme a little more?” 

Deadlock’s features relaxed into a big grin. “When you ask that way.” 

It felt as though Deadlock had leaned on his finger, because it slowly slid deeper, up to the second knuckle. Ratchet clenched on the finger, savouring the sensation of something in his valve. Yes, he wanted something larger, and deeper, but they’d get there. All Ratchet had to do was relax and let them both get comfortable, and they should have a good time. 

“Look at you,” Deadlock breathed. “You _love_ this, don’t you?” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Ratchet panted, trying to keep his optics focused and only partly succeeding. “Interface is supposed to be…supposed to be pleasurable.” 


	6. Wild and What It Seems

Chapter Six: Wild and What It Seems 

“Primus, your valve,” Deadlock said, staring wide-eyed at the valve in question. “It’s practically pulling my finger inside.” He wiggled that finger, brushing his fingertip against a very sensitive interior node. Ratchet moaned and Deadlock grinned. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” 

There was no point in denying it. Ratchet nodded. 

“But you’d like it even better if it was deeper, wouldn’t you?” 

_Guilty as charged._ “Yes.” 

“Bet you’d like it all the way up inside.” Deadlock wiggled the finger again instead of moving it any deeper. 

“Not gonna….mrgh! Not gonna bet against that.” 

“What a slut you are.” 

Ratchet bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to point out that Deadlock’s mileage was probably at least as high as his own. Drift had told him that his speedster’s frame was his one remaining asset; when he wasn’t renting it out to relinquishment clinics, he was flaunting it for the pleasure of mechs who’d pay for the company of a speedster who wouldn’t say no. 

Ratchet had disagreed with Drift’s assessment of his value. Drift had a clever mind, when it was sober; and his frame had uses beyond being aesthetically or sexually pleasing. There were jobs that required speed and precision. Better jobs than the kind of petty theft Drift sometimes engaged in. Ratchet had hoped that Drift would get one of those kinds of jobs. Instead, he’d chosen to use his speed and precision to hit back at a world that had wounded him. From mob enforcer to Decepticon soldier, Deadlock had taken a dark path that might have saved his life, but at the cost of how many other lives? 

Ratchet couldn’t think about that now. Because Deadlock might, in fact, have a point. That Decepticon insignia on his chest was not going to stop Ratchet from fragging him. Or being fragged by him. 

Ratchet didn’t care which. Ratchet’s fans felt as though they were about to melt from heat. 

Ratchet desperately tried to soothe his conscience. He wouldn’t frag Megatron. He wouldn’t frag just any old Decepticon. The problem was Deadlock. His special speedster. The one Decepticon he couldn’t say no to. 

“You should count yourself lucky,” Ratchet panted. “I don’t frag Cons.” 

“Just me?” Deadlock grinned. He seemed pleased. 

“Just you,” Ratchet agreed, and groaned with pleasure as he was rewarded by Deadlock’s finger moving all the way into his valve. 

“You won’t want any Cons after you have me,” Deadlock purred. “In fact, you might not want _anyone_ else after you have me.” 

That was exactly what Ratchet was afraid of. But before he could dwell on it any longer, Deadlock purred, “What colour’s your traffic light?” 

“Green.” 

“And if I switched my finger for my spike?” 

“If you lie down I’ll climb on for the ride.” 

“Still on that.” 

“What do you want?” Ratchet asked. “Yellow with you on top of me? Or green with me riding you?” 

Deadlock stroked his chin, optics glinting. It was possible he was annoyed at being presented with boundaries. Ratchet supposed that Cons were used to taking whatever they wanted, however they wanted it. Or maybe Deadlock didn’t think that the mech taking spike was allowed any input as to how. 

“Green,” Deadlock said abruptly. He pulled his finger from Ratchet’s valve with a single swift movement, leaving Ratchet aching with need. Deadlock lay down right next to Ratchet and flashed him a big smirk. “Come on, doc. Show me what you’ve got.” 

Ratchet felt a little self-conscious as he straddled Deadlock’s hips. He wasn’t used to the kind of lovers who demanded a show from him. Deadlock’s relationship with sex was inexorably tangled up with issues of power, and this order or challenge or whatever it might be was just another manifestation of those issues. 

Or maybe it was just that Ratchet was more accustomed to situations where the shows were put on for his benefit. Overdrive had certainly flaunted his frame to catch and keep Ratchet’s attention. And Overdrive was just the latest in a string of mechs who’d done so. Ratchet had never needed to chase fender; not when it kept presenting itself with a wink and a smile. All he’d ever had to do was accept—or not, as the inclination struck him. 

_Who’s got issues with power now?_

Still, Ratchet decided to play along with Deadlock’s request, or demand, or whatever it was. The kid had finally knocked off the bullying and threats, and it wasn’t as though Ratchet didn’t _want_ his valve stuffed by Deadlock’s very pleasing spike, which had remained firm and ready throughout their recent foreplay. Ratchet just wished his own frame was a little prettier. They didn’t hire mechs of his frame type as dancers all that often. He wasn’t sure he’d be all that good at doing the enticing. 

“Primus, you’re gorgeous,” Deadlock said, and it didn’t sound like false flattery. Deadlock’s optics were a little too bright and a little too wide, as though his brain was telling him that the input from his optics was too good to be true. He ran his hands up the backs of Ratchet’s thighs. “That’s not crude to say, is it?” 

“N-no,” Ratchet stammered. Deadlock’s touch was very distracting. 

“I know a lot of things to say to a hot and willing mech who wants spike. I bet most of them would make you squeamish.” Deadlock’s optics drank in every inch of Ratchet’s frame. “I’m trying to be nice, but I’m not sure I know how.” 

“I guess we both have to do our best with what we’ve got.” Which meant that Ratchet’s body was just going to have to do. 

At least Deadlock seemed to like what he saw. 

“Am I really going to get to screw you?” Deadlock whispered. 

Ratchet leaned down, halving the distance between his face and Deadlock’s, bracing himself with his arms. “Would you like that?” 

Deadlock grinned. “Green light, doc.” 

Out of nowhere, Ratchet had the wild impulse to lean over the rest of the way and kiss Deadlock. On the mouth, even. 

He caught himself just in time. 

_There’s no way I can do that_ . 

It wasn’t as though Ratchet didn’t enjoy making out. In fact, he did it rather often, usually in private booths in the backs of bars, or elevators in hotels, or quiet corners of the local parks. Making out was an appetizer, an amusing little tease to enjoy as a prelude to the main event. 

Ratchet was already in the midst of the main event. Why was he thinking about kissing now? 

_Silly._

Ratchet hadn’t come here to kiss and cuddle. He’d come here to get laid. Fragged to sleep, if he was lucky. 

He should get on with _that_. 

So he straightened back up and took a good hard look at Deadlock’s good, hard spike. It looked like just what the doctor ordered. 

The rest of Deadlock looked pretty damned amazing too: sleek and streamlined, but powerful, a little rough… Deadlock was _exciting_ in a way that made Ratchet’s engine rev. Ratchet’s recent affairs might have involved a different mech every time, but they’d somehow all felt the same. Over and over again, some predictable interfacing guaranteed to get Ratchet off. Yet each experience was entirely forgettable once his needs were satisfied. For a million years it had been enough. Now Ratchet felt as though he’d been having the field rations of sex—adequate for needs and nothing more. 

Ratchet had forgotten that there was such a thing as _abundance_. Something far, far more than just _enough_. Looking at Deadlock was like looking at a buffet of desires Ratchet hadn’t even known he’d had. 

Deadlock smiled up at him, inviting Ratchet to take a bite. Hell, to eat his fill. 

Ratchet slid his hand down his abdomen—it turned out he did have a few ideas of how to entice—until his fingers reached his own valve, where he used them to spread the lips wide. Carefully, he lowered himself towards Deadlock’s spike. 

Primus, but he was wet. Between the lube and his own arousal, his fingers were soaked in no time. 

All this from just _one_ finger in his valve. 

Ratchet made a note to teach the kid the proper way to stretch a valve. It was something Deadlock really should know how to do. But Ratchet wouldn’t need it to have a good time right now. He was already raring to go. 

Ratchet felt the head of Deadlock’s spike nudging the opening to his valve. His whole frame trembled with anticipation. The tremor made his hands shake. His fingers lost purchase on his slippery valve lips—not that it mattered; they closed neatly around Deadlock’s spike. Ratchet needed his other arm to catch his balance. He closed that hand on Deadlock’s shoulder. 

Primus, but Ratchet hadn’t been ready for any of the sensations that arced throug his frame. His anterior node ached. He felt as though a powerful electrical current was flowing up and down his spinal strut. Every sensor on his body prickled with anticipation. His fans screamed; his core temperature soared. He’d been turned on plenty of times before, but never like this. 

Deadlock stared at him, optics wide, corner of his mouth flipped up in a small and almost shy smile. 

Ratchet let his knees bend. Slowly, because he wanted to savour this moment. 

Deadlock’s spike slid smoothly into his valve. The ring around the spike head caught each of Ratchet’s nodes one by one and lit them up with pleasure. Ratchet threw back his head, groaned, and was shocked by both the volume of the sound he made and by the unabashed _dirtiness_ of the noise. He’d never been squeamish about the earthier aspects of interface before, but this was lecherous even for him. 

Deadlock’s spike pulsed in his valve and made him moan even more. 

This morning Ratchet would have said that he’d enjoyed good interface over the last two million years. Somewhere along the line Ratchet must have forgotten what good interface felt like. _This_ was something he’d been missing. His little affairs had never felt like this: electric and thrilling, cosmic and all-consuming. He felt _alive_. He felt as though this encounter wasn’t about him and his own needs at all; it was about the two of them, about Ratchet and Drift together, what they became when their frames were joined, and the power that flowed through them both to warm and energize and _connect_ them, physically, emotionally, spiritu… 

_No_ . Ratchet wasn’t going to lose his head to nonsense. He needed to check on Drift. 

Drift looked dazed, but not the way he’d looked when his brain was frying in his head from a circuit speeder to the skull. His smile had grown and become dreamy. He gazed up at Ratchet as though all his wildest fantasies were coming true in front of him. 

Ratchet’s knees gave out. 

Of course he had already taken most of Deadlock’s spike anyway, so he didn’t have far to fall, and yet there was still something about the sensation of Deadlock’s spike head hitting Ratchet’s very favourite node that made Ratchet cry out. 

A moment later, Deadlock made his first sound—a long, low moan ending in a gasp. 

“Is it good,” Ratchet managed to pant. 

“You tell me.” Deadlock’s hands closed on Ratchet’s hips, as if to hold Ratchet in position. Clearly Deadlock didn’t want him to get away. 

Ratchet’s reply was an inarticulate series of sounds that still provided an eloquent answer. 

“Mrgh,” Deadlock said in reply, thrusting his hips as best he could from his position underneath Ratchet. It wasn’t all that far. That was intentional. The small corner of Ratchet’s mind that still had some grip on sanity and proportion was reassured by the fact that he wasn’t at the mercy of a Decepticon with a propensity for violence. Ratchet had much better control over this interface from his position on top. 

Which meant that, though it was extremely erotic to feel Drift bucking underneath him, if he wanted the full effect he was going to have to put some work into it. 

Deadlock whimpered. A moment later he bit his lip with both fangs, as though ashamed of voicing his need. 

Ratchet grinned. He hoped his smile wasn’t too wicked. 

“Let me know when this gets too much.” 

Ratchet braced both his hands on Deadlock’s shoulders, locked his knees, and lifted his body. Just enough that Deadlock’s spike slid out almost to the head before Ratchet lowered himself again. 

Deadlock had passed beyond words. The only thing coming from his lips was a series of erotic noises. He locked optics with Ratchet and nodded emphatically, lest Ratchet get the idea he wanted to stop. 

Ratchet felt pleased at Deadlock’s eagerness. But not as pleased as they were both going to feel when this was done. 

Up. Down. Flutter those calipers. Ratchet was no dancer, but he wasn’t doing a half bad job at working Deadlock’s spike. It felt great, better than any interface he’d had in a long time, so perhaps he’d needed some shaking up. 

Or perhaps he’d needed his special speedster. 

Pleasure built rapidly, crowding out most of his thoughts, but one realization was so urgent that it cut through the fog and flashed to the forefront of Ratchet’s attention. At this rate he probably wasn’t going to last long—not that he wanted to, but he needed an answer before he could climax. 

“Ungh,” Ratchet panted, willing his lips to form words. “Will you be angry…if I call you Drift when I come?” 

Deadlock laughed, though a moan choked him off. “When you’re on my spike you can call me whatever you like.” 

Ratchet’s calipers flurried wildly around Deadlock’s spike. 

“ _Primus, Ratchet…_ ” 

“ _Drift_ ,” Ratchet gasped, and suddenly his pleasure multiplied exponentially, and the world exploded in fireworks, and no more words were possible. 


	7. Send Me Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the WARNING chapter.
> 
> Drift crosses a BIG line in this one. If you don't want to read about violations of consent, consider the previous chapter to be "The End."

Chapter Seven: Send Me Please

Ratchet couldn’t get over the kid’s stamina. He’d lost count of how many times he’d overloaded, and still Deadlock’s spike was hard and firm, stuffing him to capacity. 

His valve was going to end up bruised if he kept on like this. His fans throbbed, his chest burned and his spinal strut was starting to ache. Part of him wouldn’t mind a few more overloads, but he already knew he’d be paying for them tomorrow.

Ratchet gasped in a few deep breaths and looked down at Deadlock as he started to roll his hips once more. Deadlock was thrashing his head from side to side, his optics dark, his fingers clawed against the berth. He whimpered in between gasps of breath. He didn’t look happy any more. He looked as though he were in pain. As if he’d been right on the edge for a long time, unable to achieve his pleasure and equally unable to stop chasing it. 

“Traffic check,” Ratchet panted.

“Green,” Deadlock gritted. “Please…”

“Switch with me.” Ratchet braced his legs against the berth and prepared to lift his hips. 

Deadlock lit his optics. “What?” He reached for Ratchet as though to hold him in position.

“Switch positions. It’ll change the sensations. Kick you over the edge.”

“Pit yes.” 

Consent granted, Ratchet drew away. His valve felt stretched and empty when Deadlock’s spike slid out of it. Deadlock’s hard and dripping wet spike soaked in Ratchet’s fluids. The sight gave Ratchet a little thrill. Apparently he had arousal left for at least one more good overload. 

Though he wouldn’t mind if Deadlock came first. 

Deadlock rolled onto his hands and knees easily, as though he still had plenty of energy. He grabbed at Ratchet again. He was obviously raring to go, and Ratchet didn’t have patience to talk Deadlock through the nice gentle position of Ratchet-on-his-back. Instead, Ratchet staggered on all fours to the middle of the slab, grabbed the pillows, and braced them under his chest. He wasn’t going to go so far as to have his face shoved into the slab. He didn’t care for that.

“Come on, then,” Ratchet said, wondering if Deadlock really wanted to watch Ratchet wiggle his aft in the air for a while first. Because Ratchet wanted Deadlock back inside him, right now.

“Really?” Ratchet could feel the slab shiver as the kid shifted his weight.

“Flashing a big ol’ green light at you, kid.”

“Then here’s how the Cons do it.”

Deadlock took hold of Ratchet’s hips, all brash confidence, but actually getting his spike into Ratchet’s valve took a few tries. Ratchet groaned as Deadlock’s spike slid a wet trail over his anterior node instead. He bit his lip before he could tell Deadlock not to be a tease. He didn’t think Deadlock was teasing. 

To the Pit with it. Ratchet buried his face in the slab’s surface so Deadlock wouldn’t hear him sob.

Finally—finally! Deadlock figured out how to slide his spike home. Ratchet raised his head and cried out his encouragement.

Deadlock laughed. Not a sinister, dominating chuckle but a genuine laugh of delight for having figured it out. Ratchet wished he could see Deadlock’s face.

Deadlock took hold of Ratchet’s hips and thrust, gently. Too gently. “Light’s green, step on the gas!” Ratchet encouraged.

After a few more clumsy motions, Deadlock found his stride. Soon his spike was stroking smoothly in and out of Ratchet’s valve. It felt…well, it felt amazing. The pressure was off the tenderest areas and some previously underused nodes were now getting a thorough activation. Ratchet lost himself in the pleasure. This…this was incredible. 

Ratchet overloaded before he knew it.

Ratchet found himself gasping air into his intakes, bracing himself on the pillow and his elbows, while Deadlock just kept thrusting relentlessly into his valve. Ratchet’s whole frame felt wonderfully sated. His mind cleared just enough for him to notice that Deadlock was whimpering behind him.

“You okay, kid?”

“Green light,” Deadlock moaned. “Please, I just…just gotta come…”

But Ratchet was seeing amber warning lights.

The way they’d been fragging, Deadlock really should have overloaded by now. Ratchet wondered if maybe Deadlock couldn’t overload this way. Some mechs couldn’t. Many of them enjoyed interfacing with their partners but needed a little something else to overload. 

“Anything I can do to help?” Ratchet asked.

Deadlock’s reply was an inarticulate whine. Ratchet realized that Deadlock might not know what he needed to get where he wanted to be. 

“We can stop and I can finish you some other way,” Ratchet said quickly. He felt Deadlock moving behind him, releasing his hold on Ratchet’s hips. “We can find out…”

Deadlock’s hand slammed down on the back of Ratchet’s head. The other closed on Ratchet’s shoulder. Ratchet felt his head yanked to the side. He was too startled to cry out.

An instant later a searing pain tore through the side of his neck.

Ratchet yelled, starting to struggle. Before he could even make sense of what was happening he felt himself suddenly released. Hot charge flowed into his valve. Distantly, Ratchet heard Deadlock screaming too—not from fear or pain but from overload. 

“Drift, what’s happening?” Ratchet called, struggling to get up on his hands. He realized that he was bleeding. Pink energon slid down his shoulder and dripped onto the berth.

“Ratchet?” 

Ratchet gasped as Deadlock’s softening spike abruptly pulled out of his valve. Then strong hands roughly shoved Ratchet away.

Ratchet twisted until he could sit on the berth and clamp his hand over the wound on his neck. His self-repair protocols engaged to stem the bleeding. 

Ratchet scanned the room for the source of the attack. The answer was obvious. Deadlock’s lips were covered with pink energon. Ratchet’s fuel dripped off his chin.

Deadlock stared at Ratchet, optics wide with shock.

“Red fragging light!” Ratchet bellowed, feeling true fear for the first time.

Ratchet watched Deadlock’s head snap towards the door. He could practically see the kid calculating his escape. 

_Oh, no. You don’t get to run away from this._

Impulsively, Ratchet reached out his arm, meaning to grab Deadlock’s wrist.

He thought better of it an instant later. He _knew_ how Deadlock reacted to being touched, let alone being _seized_. Ratchet didn’t want to do that to the kid. He realized he was more afraid of spooking Deadlock than of any violence Deadlock might do in response to being grabbed.

But his arm was already moving.

And Deadlock was already looking at it.

So Ratchet did the only thing he could. He rotated his wrist until his palm faced upwards and he curled his fingers in a _come to me_ gesture. “You sit _right here_ ,” Ratchet said, speaking with an authority he didn’t quite feel, “and you tell me what you were thinking there.”

Warily, Deadlock obeyed. He circled the berth and quietly took a seat next to Ratchet, close but not quite touching. His gaze remained fixed on the wound on Ratchet’s neck.

Ratchet reached up his hand to touch it. A quick diagnostic told him that the self repair would handle it. The injury wasn’t severe as bites went. It would be healed within a week. Ratchet’s outcry had been more due to surprise than to actual pain. His concern was more due to the unprovoked attack than the damage it had caused.

Ratchet wondered if the bite had been Deadlock’s way of exfiltrating himself from the situation. No awkward goodbyes. No morning-after regrets. No chances of a repeat. Just a sudden, sharp and final end, after which Ratchet would never want to see him again. 

There was only one way to find out.

Ratchet turned his attention from his energon-covered fingers to Deadlock. “Now tell me what that was about.”

“I’m sorry,” Deadlock said, with a guilty cringe that reminded Ratchet of countless addicts he’d treated in the past. It wasn’t that they were lying, exactly. In the moment they were entirely sincere. It was more that both they and Ratchet knew that they would do the same thing again, no matter how sorry they might feel about it afterwards. “I just…just needed to overload so badly,” Deadlock added lamely. He knew full well his justification did not excuse what he’d done.

Ratchet felt sick.

Was _that_ what got Drift off? Violence? Hurting people? 

Was _that_ why he was wearing a purple badge on his chest? 

“So in order to overload,” Ratchet said, choking on the awful words.

Then he realized that Deadlock’s gaze was still fixed on his energon-covered fingers.

Another possibility occurred to him. What if it _wasn’t_ the violent act getting Deadlock off? What if the violence was just a means to an end?

Ratchet lifted his hand to the level of Deadlock’s face. Deadlock stared at it the whole time as though the shine of wet engex had hypnotized him. Ratchet moved his fingers closer, and Deadlock trembled, but he didn’t pull away. He sat transfixed until Ratchet’s hand was almost touching his lips.

Then he opened his mouth and licked the engex off the tip of Ratchet’s fingers.

“Oh,” Ratchet said, as he pushed his fingers towards Deadlock’s mouth. As Deadlock obligingly closed his lips around them and started, ever so gently, to suck them, Ratchet said _Oh_ again in a very different tone.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to dial up the sensitivity on his hands again and let Deadlock give him what would essentially be a virtual blowjob. 

Ratchet struggled to keep his head. He was supposed to be teaching the kid a lesson about asking for consent. Instead he was on the verge of teaching him that sucking someone off was an appropriate apology.

Ratchet pulled his fingers out of Deadlock’s admittedly warm and welcoming mouth. Deadlock actually whimpered and reached for them with his tongue, but Ratchet quickly yanked his hand away.

“What’s the guarantee I don’t get bitten again?” Ratchet asked.

Deadlock’s optics slid to the wound on Ratchet’s neck. He licked his lips, as if trying to lap up every last taste of Ratchet left to him.

Ratchet wasn’t above twisting the knife. He put his fingers back on the wound, swirled them in his own spilled energon. “In my berth we ask nicely for what we want.”

“ _Ungh_ ,” Deadlock said, staring at Ratchet’s hand. “What if you say no?”

“Red light means you try something different that…”

“…your partner might like better,” Deadlock finished. “But you might not get what you want.”

“That’s true,” Ratchet said quietly. “Is getting what you want worth hurting other people for?” He tried not to look at the Decepticon badge on Deadlock’s chest.

“Everyone else was always happy to hurt _me_ for what _they_ wanted,” Deadlock said, but the words fell hollow, because both of them knew those words were not absolution.

Ratchet swallowed and tried again. “Is getting what you want worth hurting _me_ for?”


	8. Bled All I Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the CONSEQUENCES chapter. Themes include working out the aftermath to the problems of the previous chapter. 
> 
> #

Chapter Eight: Bled All I Can 

Wordlessly, Deadlock shook his head from side to side. His optics welled with light. “I’m sorry. I was selfish. I’m sorry.” Ratchet reached out his hand, but Deadlock tore himself away, rolling out of the berth and onto his feet. Ratchet barely heard Deadlock’s next words because the Decepticon was already facing the door. “And you hate me now.” 

“I don’t hate you, kid.” Ratchet wanted to go after him, but he made himself sit put. It had to be Deadlock’s choice to come back. Ratchet couldn’t chase him and force morality onto him. It had to come from Deadlock’s own spark. 

Deadlock peeked back over his shoulder. Ratchet met his gaze and patted the berth next to him. Cautiously, Deadlock turned around again. “But I…” 

“You have to promise me you won’t do that again. That you’ll ask for what you want.” 

“Pfft. Like you’d take my word for it?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Deadlock gestured to the Decepticon badge on his chest. 

Ratchet took a deep breath. “You tell me you won’t lie to me, and I’ll believe you until you give me a reason to believe different.” 

“What about when I disgust you?” Deadlock said. “When I revolt you? When I appall you?” 

He was staring at the energon on Ratchet’s fingers again. 

“What, that you’re a syphonist?” Ratchet said. 

Deadlock winced. Ratchet held his gaze steady. “Come here and we can talk about it.” 

“Right,” Deadlock said, but he came anyway and slid back into the berth next to Ratchet. “I’m gonna say _hey, can I tear your throat open_? And you’re gonna say _no_ and that’s the end.” 

“You know there’s safer ways to let a little energon. Sterilized tools, surgical incisions, careful monitoring of fuel loss, and a plaster to seal up the line afterwards.” 

Deadlock just gawked at him, as though he were suggesting something so outrageous as to be unthinkable. 

Ratchet persisted. “So tell me what gets you off, kid. Is it the intimacy of sharing part of one’s own body as fuel for a companion? Or is it the part where you get to be the one hurting others and forcing your will on them, instead of the one who’s being hurt?” 

Deadlock licked nervously at his lips. “It’s, uh, it’s the first one.” 

“But the second one gets you farther in your current company.” Ratchet rapped a knuckle on Deadlock’s Decepticon badge. 

“Second one hasn’t gotten me _anywhere_ with you,” Deadlock retorted, “and I don’t understand it, because I’m _somebody_ now, but all you seem to want is that loser I used to be.” 

“I didn’t ever think you were a loser,” Ratchet said, and raised his energon covered fingertips to Deadlock’s lips. 

Deadlock stared at him for a moment longer. Then his desire overrode his reticence. He parted his lips, reached out his tongue and licked the drying fuel from Ratchet’s fingers. 

Ratchet couldn’t help a little moan of his own. 

Deadlock heard. He flashed Ratchet a devilish grin. “Hey, doc,” he purred in a low, throaty tone. “Why don’t you just dial the sensitivity back up again.” He took hold of Ratchet’s wrist in both hands, and then he maneuvered himself until he was sitting in Ratchet’s lap. Ratchet had to spread his thighs to accommodate Deadlock’s generous aft in between his legs. Deadlock bowed his head, took Ratchet’s fingers deep into his mouth, and began to suck them. 

Ratchet kept his sensitivity at moderate levels. He wanted his head clear enough to do more than just whimper in response. He took his other hand and slid it gently down Deadlock’s side, fanning his fingers over Deadlock’s belly, stroking his abdomen. “This okay, kid?” 

“Mrgh. Green light,” Deadlock mumbled around Ratchet’s fingers. His tongue teased in between each digit, lapping up every last bit of energon. 

Ratchet sighed. Deadlock seemed to have heard the lesson, but who knew if he’d actually internalized it. Maybe Ratchet should’ve spent a little more time hammering the point home. 

On the other hand, he wasn’t Deadlock’s teacher, or his mentor. He had come out to this hotel to have a little fun and relax. Was it so wrong for him to indulge himself a little? Deadlock was licking his hands of his own free will and it felt _great_. 

While Ratchet had managed to coax the occasional partner to give him a little tongue-and-hand play, none of them had ever been into it the way Deadlock was right now. And all it took was a little spilled fuel on his fingers. 

It wasn’t Ratchet’s kink, but he didn’t mind indulging it in a safe, sane and consensual way. A little drizzle of energon was a small price to pay for this kind of hand play… 

Deadlock moaned, obviously as delighted as Ratchet was by this activity. 

So, his little speedster was a syphonist. Ratchet could work with that. 

Deadlock dimmed his optics. His entire frame relaxed against Ratchet’s. Having gotten his elusive overload, Deadlock seemed content to lose himself in a haze of pleasure. Ratchet had never thought he’d see the kid so unguarded. It was a uniquely erotic sight. Ratchet wasn’t sure how to describe the sensation he felt when he looked at Deadlock in his arms: it revved him up, but he also felt a sort of tenderness stealing over him. An urge to take care of Deadlock. Not the way he took care of his patients; not like that at all. That was _work,_ and work was not erotic. This was something else again. 

Ratchet petted Deadlock’s thighs, stroked his belly, explored his hips. Deadlock did not stir. 

Ratchet had been hesitant to fondle Deadlock before. He remembered how jumpy Drift had been in his Dead End clinic. 

Drift had flinched every time he was touched. He cringed if he so much as thought someone _might_ touch him. Very hesitantly, he’d learned to reach out his hand for Ratchet’s. Ratchet had held that hand so gently, feeling like he’d been given a precious gift. Which was silly—he’d been holding Drift’s hand to give Drift comfort. His own feelings weren’t important. 

Deadlock was not his patient, and Ratchet had come here tonight specifically to indulge in feelings and sensations. Still, he’d been cautious about touching Deadlock. He didn’t trust Deadlock to use the colour system if he was uncomfortable, and he hadn’t wanted to start their encounter with a behaviour that he knew full well would put Deadlock on edge. But now? When Deadlock was so relaxed, even with Ratchet’s hand on his tummy? 

Ratchet let his hand slide lower, carressing Deadlock’s inner thigh. 

Deadlock lit his optics. Ratchet hesitated. 

Deadlock retracted his valve panel. Slowly. The speed told Ratchet that the retraction had been manually performed instead of subconsciously triggered. 

“Are you sure?” Ratchet whispered. 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Deadlock’s voice was slightly slurred. 

“I didn’t think you liked this sort of thing.” Ratchet had needed to be very careful during Drift’s physicals. Ordinarily it was standard protocol to screen the valve and check for any injury or disease, but Ratchet hadn’t wanted to traumatize the kid, either. On the other hand, Drift had required manual repairs. They’d struck an agreement. Ratchet had done the repairs while Drift was offline, at Drift’s request. It had been the least uncomfortable option in a situation with no comfortable choices. 

Surely Deadlock wouldn’t want valve play now. 

“Come _on_ , Ratchet.” Deadlock took Ratchet’s wrist in his hands while he lifted his mouth from Ratchet’s palm. “I know what _you_ want.” He half-turned in Ratchet’s lap so he could meet Ratchet’s gaze. “Nobody _ever_ just wants to pet thighs.” 

Ratchet felt stung. He had to ask himself a hard question. What, precisely, had been his intentions when he started caressing Deadlock? 

He hadn’t expected Deadlock to stop him, exactly. But he’d been carefully watching for little tells that might indicate his partner was uncomfortable. 

“It’s nice to touch you,” Ratchet whispered, his voice rough. “So far it looked like you were liking it too.” 

“Because I didn’t red light you?” 

“Would you have?” Ratchet pressed on rather than expecting Deadlock to answer. “I was watching for any sign you might be feeling like I was going too far. You looked really comfortable.” 

Deadlock blinked. “I _felt_ really comfortable.” He stared down at his valve as though he’d never seen it before. Then he turned his attention back to Ratchet. “Yellow light.” 

“Yellow?” 

“Heh.” A small tremor passed through Deadlock’s frame. “I can’t lie to you. You already know what I did when you touched me back in Rodion, and that was just a medical exam. But you’ve been feeling me up right now and it’s been almost nice. So if you keep going as carefully as you have been, I think I can just lie back and let you do whatever you want.” He gave Ratchet a teasing smile. “I bet you’ll even want me to promise you I’ll red light you when I start to feel bad.” 

“You’re damn right I do.” 

“Okay. I promise, then.” He lifted Ratchet’s hand back to his lips. “Now go to it.” 

Ratchet carefully slid his hand down until his fingers rested over Deadlock’s anterior node. As expected, Deadlock flinched. Ratchet held very still. One breath. Two. He was on the verge of lifting his hand when he felt Deadlock’s frame relax against his. 

Ratchet moved his index finger very slightly. 

Deadlock inhaled sharply. Tensed. 

One breath. Two. 

Again, Deadlock’s body accepted his touch and relaxed. 

There was no way Ratchet could frag the kid like this. It would take forever and Deadlock still probably wouldn’t like it. Ratchet should just get Deadlock’s spike hard again and maybe see if Deadlock would behave himself if Ratchet let him be on top. 

Or maybe Ratchet could help Deadlock explore his own frame at his own pace, even—especially--if that didn’t mean full interface. 

_Stupid_ . Ratchet wasn’t a sex therapist. Even if he were—he figured he had a pretty good grasp on both the theory and the methodology—he hadn’t come here to work. He’d come here for a good time, nothing more. 

So why did he feel as though the second alternative was more important than getting off again? 

“When’re you gonna do it?” Deadlock mumbled. 

Ratchet moved his finger again. This time Deadlock didn’t flinch. He didn’t seem to notice at all. He leaned his head back, focusing his optics on Ratchet as though waiting for an answer. 

Ratchet saw the exact moment that Deadlock realized something interesting was happening. 

His optics flashed. His mouth opened. He gasped softly. The gasp turned into a moan before it was through. 

Ratchet wanted to urge his partner to relax and enjoy, but with Deadlock that would have the opposite effect. Nobody ever relaxed because they’d been ordered to. 

“How’s that feel?” Ratchet asked instead. 

“Ungh,” Deadlock said. He took a deep breath. “Okay, I guess. When’s the fragging?” 

Ratchet moved his finger in a motion much like tickling, but far lighter, just barely touching the tender surface of Deadlock’s node. “Wouldn’t you rather do this?” 

Deadlock looked at Ratchet skeptically. “Yeah, but what’s this do for you?” 

Ratchet tried to sound nonchalant. “I really want to watch you overload.” 

Deadlock’s jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t get to see it last time,” Ratchet continued. “You were behind me. This time I want to see what you look like when you come.” He increased the pressure just a hair. “I bet you’re beautiful.” 

“So, wait,” Deadlock said. “You mean all I have to do is lie here and overload?” 

“And have a good time,” Ratchet agreed. 

“And I get to…” Deadlock didn’t seem to be able to manage the words. He licked his lips instead and gazed at Ratchet pleadingly, hoping Ratchet understood his meaning. 

Ratchet did. He placed his lips near Deadlock’s audio and whispered, “I think I can find a little taste for you.” 

Deadlock shivered all over. His mouth moved soundlessly. His optics flickered and he tried again. This time he succeeded in emitting a strained whisper. “Yes, please.” 


End file.
